


Without Words

by AudreyV



Series: I'd Do Anything For Her [2]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: BDSM, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Boss/Employee Relationship, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluid Sexuality, Identity, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kneeling, Lesbian Sex, Love, Masochism, Power Dynamics, Promiscuity, Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyV/pseuds/AudreyV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Normal people had girlfriends, husbands, mistresses, and lovers, but none of those terms suited what they had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the femslash kink meme prompt, Annalise/Bonnie, kneeling. Inspired by THAT scene in 1x08. 
> 
> Warnings: non-explicit references to canon child abuse and suicidal thoughts. Also references to promiscuity after trauma. 
> 
> Comments & constructive criticism are awesome and much appreciated.

She’d always cared about words. Even when she was a tiny child naming things for the first time, Bonnie adored how complex language could be. “Garden” was different from “field,” even though they were both places where things grew. A door was not simply “blue,” but azure, cerulean, navy, aqua or teal. Something broken could be chipped, cracked, splintered, shattered or crushed. (People could be broken too, she knew, but there were better words for that: wounded, battered, hurt, ruined.) 

In high school, she learned that a certain Inuit dialect had more than 50 words for snow and it thrilled her. 

The only thing better was finding out that in Sanskrit, there were 96 words for love. 

A young Bonnie had considered a career as a writer, but she didn’t have that kind of faith in her creative abilities. Instead, she channeled her love of words into the law, a field built on the importance of precise language. She still spent a lot of time thinking about the layers of meaning one word can have, and how many words can be necessary to tease out a single concept. 

It annoyed Bonnie that there were parts of herself that she couldn’t put words to, but it bothered her more that there were words that seemed like they were supposed to fit, but didn’t.

Like “masochist.” That word didn’t fit. It made her think of poorly written erotica, tv crime procedurals and the movie “Secretary,” none of which she liked. Plus, even though the sex she'd had could have been described by a variety of terms, masochistic wasn't one of them. (Asher, her brain thoughtfully supplied, but to say that enduring his sweet foolishness was masochism? Absolute hyperbole.) 

She'd had sex that was tender, even loving in nature. She'd had athletic romps and drunken, fumbling hookups. She'd had desperate fucks with strangers in bar bathrooms, the kind that felt so freeing until she came. Moments later she'd feel disgusted at what she'd done, although she didn’t delude herself into thinking that she’d stop doing it. 

That might have been self-destructive, but it wasn’t masochistic. 

She knew she wasn't normal. Nothing about her life had been normal, and she was probably a worse person for it, but the alternative was a bottle of pills or a long rope and she couldn't stand the idea that it wouldn't work and she'd wake up to another failure. 

We all spend our lives trying to repair the things that other people broke. Fucking whoever she wanted, however she wanted, made Bonnie forget for a few moments that no matter what she did, she could still see the cracks. 

She knew it was wrong to use people (Asher, her brain hurled like an accusation), but it was the only way she knew how to live. She rationalized it as a victimless crime; she got off, they got off, and everybody went home happy. 

People only got hurt when they wanted more than just her body, because she didn’t share the rest. 

That wasn’t quite true, though, Bonnie had to admit to herself. There was one person who had all of her. The same one who Bonnie could sense was sitting several feet behind her, even if she didn’t dare turn to make sure. 

The person she had no word for. Normal people had girlfriends, husbands, mistresses, and lovers, but none of those terms suited what they had. 

Bonnie wished she’d studied Sanskrit instead of Latin, because in 96 words there must have been one that would have fit. 

She had no idea how long she'd been there, but it was long enough that she could no longer tell which individual parts of her hurt. She felt sweat rolling down her back. Her muscles were on fire and she resisted the impulse to groan from the strain. 

Masochist was a word that didn’t fit her, so this pain was definitely not turning her on. 

Even with the mat cushioning her knees, the exertion of staying frozen in position was starting to border on excrutiating. Bonnie shifted her weight slightly from one side to the other, trying to ease the tension in her back. 

"No." The voice behind her was reproachful, and she knew she'd been caught. The guilt must have shown in her posture, because the voice softened as it continued. "Breathe into it, Bonnie. Embrace it. This is what you need."

Despite her current posture, “submissive” also didn’t feel right to Bonnie. She made the rules, telling one partner she had to keep her hands on the headboard unless she wanted to go home unsatisfied; she followed the instruction and was amply rewarded. She told another that he couldn't look at her while she rode him. Midway through the act he got bold and looked her in the eye, challenging her authority. She was glad he’d disobeyed; the sex was average, but the thrill of leaving him achingly hard as she strode out of his apartment was spectacular.

Ice queen, tightly-wound Bonnie Winterbottom was definitely a top. She was kneeling because she chose to. 

She’d long ago given up on puzzling out the proper terminology for her sexuality. That was one of those cases when many words needed to be used instead of one neat term. Once when he was annoyed with her, Frank had called her a lesbian like it was a slur. It wasn’t, but it was inaccurate. She’d put him in his place by telling him the truth: even though she’d probably given more women orgasms than he had (since half of her anonymous hookups and nearly all of her repeat partners had been women), she’d still had plenty of male bedmates. Lesbians didn’t like having sex with men, and Bonnie did. She just didn’t like sleeping next to them, so she always made them go as soon as they'd come. (Almost always. Asher.) 

"You're trembling," a voice spoke from behind her. 

Ice clinked in a glass and Bonnie heard a drink being poured. She breathed slowly and tightened her abdominal muscles, willing her body to still.  She focused on keeping her back perfectly straight, her elbows at her sides and her forearms parallel to the floor. 

“Yes. Just like that, darling,” the voice purred as she found stillness.

Bonnie felt a flush creeping up the back of her neck and tried not to think of the effect those words and that rich, sultry tone had on her.

A chair creaked and then there was a hand threading its way through her hair. She fought the urge to moan, or to tip her head toward the touch. Instead, she focused her eyes on the book in her hands. 

Bonnie wouldn’t tie the words “lesbian,” “masochist” or “submissive” to herself. They weren’t quite right, even if she was naked and kneeling at the foot of a woman's bed, with a heavy reference book balanced on her hands and every muscle in her body screaming. 

Even if she liked it, which she did. 

It was glorious. Breathtakingly erotic. She loved the way it hurt. She loved knowing that this gorgeous, powerful woman was going to use her as she saw fit. She hoped she’d be on on her knees again later, with hands rough in her hair as she worshipped this goddess with her mouth. She shivered just thinking about how good it felt to obey, and how well rewarded she would be for her devotion. 

These sessions just absolutely fucking wrecked Bonnie and she loved it. She wished there was a word for what this was and how it made her feel, but if she had to choose between having a relationship that could be summed up neatly with words or having this, she'd pick this, language and all its limitations be damned. 

"Look at me."

She lifted her head and eyes to her interrogator, careful not to move any other muscles. 

Annalise was looking down at her with an expression that was half approval, bordering on almost-parental fondness, and half blistering lust. It rocketed Bonnie's heart into her throat and sent a jolt to her clit. 

Annalise reached out a perfectly manicured hand, fingers lingering at her subordinate's throat before moving to toy with her bottom lip. 

"You did very well today," the older woman murmured, and Bonnie knew it wasn't her perfect posture that was being complimented. The case had been tricky, and her 11th hour insight had saved them from what seemed an inevitable guilty verdict. 

"Thank you."

"Would you like to put the book down?"

"If it pleases you."

"It would. I can think of better uses for your hands."

Bonnie nodded her head once, then bowed forward, lowering the book to the ground slowly. Once the leather bound tome was on the floor, Annalise gestured that she should stand. 

“Today when we were in court, when I knew that little Hail Mary you came up with was going to work, you know what I wanted to do?” she asked, casually placing her glass on the mantle. “I wanted to hike up that sweet little skirt of yours and bend you over the prosecutor’s table. Let them all watch me fuck you until you couldn’t stand up. A proper reward for your brilliant work.” Annalise drifted closer to Bonnie, who stood in rapt attention. “Sadly one must try to remain professional. For next time, I’ll think of a compromise. In the backseat of my car in the courthouse parking lot, perhaps. Midday, when anyone can see. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” Bonnie’s breathing was shallow as Annalise circled her, leaning close so her words could caress her ear and the back of her neck.

“Or maybe when we leave the courtroom, I’ll pull you over to the left, around that dark corner. Press your cheek against the cold stone and take you from behind. Demand that you stay perfectly silent, which we both know you won’t be able to do. Then we’ll drive back here, the long way, so you have plenty of time to anticipate your punishment. I bet you’d like that too. But which part would be your favorite? The part where you can’t move away or make a sound while I fuck you up against the wall? Or the part where I paddle you until you beg me to stop?”

“Please don’t make me choose.” Bonnie’s eyes were shut and she was trembling slightly, her conscious thoughts drowning in pleasure and pain and want and need.

“Look at me.” Annalise commanded, and Bonnie obeyed even though it was an effort. 

She looked into those expressive, intense brown eyes and was almost knocked back by how intimate it felt to see and be seen. 

“You’re doing very well.” Annalise ran her hand along Bonnie’s collarbone, down to her breast, and raked her fingernails across an erect nipple. “How wet are you right now?”

“Very.”

“Show me.”

Bonnie nodded, slowly moving her hand down her abdomen. Her fingers slid over her slightly curved stomach, then past damp pubic hair to press inside. She pulled her hand away and held it up, showing how her fingers glistened in the soft light. Annalise smiled and pulled Bonnie’s hand to her lips, sucking an index finger into her mouth and sending a shudder through her body. 

“I think I’ve come up with a reasonable reward for you,” Annalise whispered before pressing their lips together. They kissed, tongues exploring as if this were the first time. 

Bonnie liked that even though every night she spent with Annalise was different, they all started out the same—with her on her knees. It was their way of acknowledging the moment that had led them to this thing that they didn’t have a word for. 

Bonnie on her hands and knees, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. Annalise, angry, broken-hearted, yet strangely aroused by the sight. 

Months later, after a few glasses of vodka, Annalise admitted that even as she was ordering Bonnie to leave, part of her wanted the blonde to stay there at her feet. Bonnie was still on her first drink, but it was enough of an excuse to be brave, so she sank down and folded her hands on Annalise’s lap. She looked up at the other woman with reverence, the barest hint of a smile on her red, red lips.

“Good girl,” Annalise purred. That was how they discovered that Bonnie liked the way those words sounded on Annalise’s lips as much as Annalise liked having Bonnie on her knees. 

That was how it began. They’d known each other for almost a decade by the time her boss’s hand reached out toward her pale thigh. It was a choice that could have destroyed them, had things veered off in a different direction. One of them should have stopped it before it went too far, but as soon as Bonnie’s knees hit the rug, it had become inevitable. 

Annalise wanted her body, so Bonnie gave it to her. She didn’t think about what it could mean, considering Annalise already had the rest of her. She’d agonized over it in the early days, trying so hard to put a definition on what was between them. 

“Would you like your reward?” Teeth nipped at Bonnie’s pulse point and she groaned, abandoning the struggle to stay even and still. 

“God, yes.” 

Annalise grasped the hem of her blue sheath dress and pulled it up so Bonnie could see that she was bare underneath. “Down,” came the command and Bonnie knelt. 

“I love you like this,” Annalise said quietly. 

“I love *you* like *this,*” Bonnie replied, gazing up at her with adoration. Gentle fingers caressed her face and Bonnie pressed her cheek against Annalise’s thigh, breathing deeply. 

It was possible to know something with every cell in her body and not be able to put it into words. Her brain would still try to puzzle it out, but the rest of her knew it would be true whether she named it or not.


End file.
